Catalyst
by Zebra On Fire
Summary: What happends when Grace can't decide how to deal? LG Rating not for sexuality - WARNING: Very angsty. Read under own discretion.
1. Fear

Summary: Can Luke get Grace to open up and share her feelings? Does Grace want to share her feelings?

A/N: Unfortunately for me, I do not own Joan of Arcadia, or any of the characters. Some of the scenes you may recognize from the TV show, but the overall plotline is mine. Yes, I am well aware that if anything of this sort happened actually in the show, they would have showed it. But this is my imagination – just me taking a situation and typing out what I'd like to see.

This is my first JoA fic... so please, r&r.

To Diminished-9th for the inspiration! (By the way, check out her fic "Beneath the Surface, Above the Core" – excellent reading.) I've stolen a couple of her lines in this fic. Kudos to whoever spots them!

* * *

His eyes.

Oh, holy cow, his eyes. They looked up at me from where they sat at our hiding spot, surrounded by a pale face that'd seen a computer more than the sun. Crowned by the sandy blonde hair that was the minority in the Girardi family, his eyes were filled with deep concern. I hated it when people were worried about me. Hated the fact that he cared. 

I mean, who needed Alateen? Weren't the people there just a bunch of whining idiots who couldn't take care of their own problems? Honestly, I've been doing fine for who knows how long... why did all of the sudden Luke seem to think that I needed a bunch of drooling twits greeting me in unison "Hi Grace..."? I was so not going there. At all.

I shook my head. "Dude, have you been inhaling the formaldehyde? There's no way I'm doing this." 

"Go to one meeting." He looked really determined now. I'd never seen such a mix of compassion and fire in one person. So very kissable. But kissable or no, there was no way I was going to a meeting to talk about my feelings.

"I've been through it all, Girardi. There is nothing new they can tell me."

"You've been through it by yourself. It doesn't have to be that way anymore."

Why would I want it any differently? Obviously I was doing ok the way I was. I didn't need to uproot my entire way of thinking just for the "power of healing". I didn't even know I was wounded. It was like having surgery for cancer that wasn't there. Completely unnecessary.

* * *

I stalked back home, my head whirling with different thoughts, all of them including Luke. _Had I made a mistake in telling him?_ That was the question foremost in my head. If there was anything I hated, I hated people _simpering_ after me, worrying and trying to act all concerned. 

Part of me wished I'd talked with him. Telling him everything, the long nights, the fighting, the vomit all over the floor. Part of me wished that I hadn't just left him – he deserved more than I was giving him. But, realistically speaking, I couldn't give him that. I wasn't a lovey-dovey person.

Oh, sure, I could be if I really tried. But it wasn't _me_. I don't like being not me.

I opened the door with my key. I regretted it immediately. A stench like no other greeted my nose that made me want to vomit and run out of the house. But a stench like that could only mean one thing: Mother.

I raced around the house, trying to find where she had most likely fallen and thrown up. Panic filled my veins like nothing else. I couldn't find her. Where could she be? It's not like my house was that big. White, yes, but not big.

I finally found her. She was in the broom closet. Why, I don't know, but I stopped asking myself why a long time ago. I felt for her pulse – it was there, luckily, but I didn't know how many of the thousands of bottles around the house had been drunk that day.

Someone knocked on the door.

Oh, blast. It had to be just now? When I was about to run for the cordless and call 911? I sighed, and sprinted for the door, skidding on my stocking feet as I reached the door.

Blast.

Luke was there, standing, holding a card of some sort and looking awfully nervous. His eyes dodged around, looking for something to focus on.

Blast. His eyes.

Snapping to, I slammed open the door. He looked startled.

"Can't talk now, Girardi. Come back later." I started to close the door, when he stuck his hand out to hinder the door.

"Grace..." he looked uncertain. "I know, it's not like you're secret's going to be out any more than it already is." 

I started. "What do you mean by that...?" I almost yelled. But now was not the time to have a fight with my... boyfriend... I needed to get that phone and call fast. Who knew how long she'd been lying there?

"_NOT NOW GIRARDI._" I stated firmly, slamming the door successfully this time.

I ran back to my mother, and felt for a pulse again. It was still there. I took the cordless in my hand, and dialed 9-1-1. I'd hoped that I never had to do that.

"_911 Emergency Dispatch. Please state your emergency."_

I went through the whole emergency and location deal. Ignoring the vomit, I knelt next to my mother and held her hand. Dispatch had given them an ETA of about 5 minutes. I hoped that my heart wouldn't beat out of my chest before then.

A door opened.

Had perhaps, by some miracle, my father come home early? Would he be forced to see what his ignorance and workaholic nature had done to our family? I peeked around the corner, expecting to see the old man's shoes being slipped off and a coat being hung up.

It was those pair of eyes.

Luke's eyes met mine. He couldn't see my mother; he could only see me kneeling. I got up, and went over to him.

"Nice place..." he said.

"Girardi. Do you not pay attention?" Panic and fear was seeping through my skull. I opened the door and tried to push him out, with no avail. "Now is most definitely _not_ a good time."

He was almost wordless. "I don't know. Maybe. I didn't realize that it was against the law for me to worry about you. Considering I'm your boyfriend."

I was shocked. He'd said the b-word. Aloud. I'd said it plenty of times in my head, but this was different. He'd said it aloud. Not exactly my idea of how this would play out, but if he wanted to go there, he'd have to wait. The ambulance was going to be there soon, and I was not having him around for this.

Too late.

EMT's ran through the open door. I pointed half heartedly where a hand stuck out from around the corner. I didn't dare look Luke in the eye. 

"There... she's there. I don't know how much she drank.**"**

One of the EMT's nodded in my direction and went and knelt down by her. Another one steered me outside. "Go get in the ambulance... we'll have her there in a minute. Her detox is gonna be really bad... if..."

I didn't want to hear it. I walked out to the street, and started to get into the ambulance.

Luke grabbed my shoe before I could fully get in. Blast. I'd forgotten that he was there.

"What happened, Grace?"

I turned and looked at him. Big mistake.

He was so full of concern and his eyes seemed deeper. But love poems and simpering from him would have to come later. I was not going to have him around to see me falling apart at the hospital, trying to reach my dad. I had done it on my own for long enough. I didn't need any more help.

"Later, Girardi."

He attempted to climb into the ambulance, his feet and hands not built for climbing. It was rather cute. He looked up at me with disdain.

"A little help, Grace?"

"No one ever said you were welcome to come, Girardi."

He stumbled backwards like the car was suddenly made of the stuff from the sun. He looked wounded. Who was I kidding, he _was_ wounded. But I wasn't ready to have him see me like I would be in a few short hours.

"Please?" he asked, his hands wrapped around my ankle again. My thoughts shot back to that day in PE when he'd been fondling my ankles. His touch entranced me, caught me off guard. My muscles stopped, I couldn't move. I couldn't think. It was like I was stuck in one of those voids that he was always going on about. Like, where time supposedly stops...

Those eyes.

I held out my hand.

He climbed in.

I was in for one heck of a week.


	2. Hypothesis

A/N: Disclaimer from Chap. 1 applies to all chapters in this fic… Yeah.

To Bear – You have no idea how much your friendship means!

Sorry it took me so long – midterms are a killer!

---

We sat in silence as the ambulance bumped along the highway. I sat in a chair by the gurney, with Luke beside me. I held my mother's hand the entire way, through the bumping and the screeching.

My panic had subsided by then. I had gotten a grip on myself somewhat. I felt strangely calm, very centered. Very "ohm" with myself. That was weird, because my mother was on the verge of dying and that pair of eyes was sitting next to me, his hand on my thigh. Very distracting, but very cute.

The EMT back here with us was calling out numbers and all sorts of statistics to the EMT up front. I really wasn't paying attention. I should have been paying attention, but that Girardi kid was still rubbing his hand on my thigh.

"Dude… Girardi… enough with the hand." I said, brushing his hand away. He immediately took his hand back, and mumbled a quick apology.

We rode the rest of the way in silence.

---

When we reached the hospital, the EM techs took Mother out and ran her inside. The driver pulled me aside, told me to just go wait in the emergency room and someone would talk to me soon.

I walked into the emergency room and found a couch open. I sat down, stretching out my legs in front of me. I put my head back on the back of the couch, and just sighed. Luke sat down on the couch in front of me and took my hands into his own.I was surprised that his eyes hadn't started pouring blood and tears to make room for the concern.

"Grace?"

"Get off it Girardi." I dropped his hands.

He stood up suddenly. I could feel his eyes on me as I pointed my own towards the floor.

"Why don't you want to talk about this?"

I looked up at him, not meeting his eyes exactly.

"What is there to talk about?"

He looked surprised.

"What do you mean, what is there to talk about?" He sat down on the couch next to me. "This whole… situation… this whole… your mom thing. Isn't that what's wrong?"

I looked at him fully this time. Did he not get it? I was frustrated, yes, but my emotions hadn't suffered any from my mom downing two cases of beer every couple of days.

"Girardi… you're not understanding me. My mom is a drunk, yes… but that doesn't affect me any. You're assuming that I do feel responsible. You're assuming I need help. I've done it on my own for at least five years, maybe more, and I don't need help now. Fact is, I don't feel any responsibility or care about anything except that my mom lives. Got it?"

He stood up again.

"What do you mean? Why did you start crying when you saw me after you told me? Something's going on inside there Grace, and I wanna figure it out."

"I'm not a puzzle for you to figure out! I'm not one of your science projects to sit and analyze and make better." I glared at him. "Isn't there something else you'd rather be doing then standing there and having a fight with me?"

He looked at me. Suddenly he stood much taller. He ran his hands through his hair, and he continued his glare.

"Yeah, actually. There is. I got science fair I could be doing… _without you…_" He took two steps towards the door. "Have fun."

He left me.

I couldn't believe he left me.

Wasn't he supposed to be supportive of me? Stick it out even though I was tired and frustrated with him? He was _so_ supposed to not leave me!

_But Grace…_ I reminded myself. _You didn't want him there in the first place. Why are you so mad to see him go now?_

I flopped back on the couch, now taking up the entire space between the armrests. I felt so empty, alone, and confused.

The best remedy for that was sleep.

---

I woke to the vibration of my cell phone in my pants pocket. I pulled it out, and said sleepily "Polk."

"Grace?" My dad's worried voice haunted my ear.

Blast. I'd forgotten to call him and inform him of mom's situation. I was so in for it.

"Grace? Where are you? Its 11:30 at night!" I rolled my eyes. Did he not notice the horrible stench eradicating from the house? It was probably rotten by now, and there was no way he did not smell it.

"Dad, Mom's in the hospital. Alcohol poisoning. I fell asleep. Sorry."

"And you didn't tell me this why?"

"I fell asleep. I told you. Just get down here ASAP." I shut my cell phone, and stuck it back into my pocket.

I sat up more now, my head less fuzzy. I blinked away the sleep, and looked around. The waiting room was less crowded now, with just a few people and nurses strutting about.

One of those people strutting about looked like a familiar blonde.

Luke sat down next to me, holding out a soda for me to take. I took it, and drank greedily.

"I thought you left, Girardi." I sat the soda down on the floor beside the couch.

"Yeah… well… I got outside… and I walked for about twenty minutes before I realized that you probably shouldn't be alone and I didn't care if you were mad at me or not, I wasn't leaving you."

I was touched by his concern. I really was. It would also explain why I had an unfamiliar coat draped about my shoulders.

He continued. "I talked to one of the nurses about your mom… they didn't know anything. It looks like your mom OD'd on something as well, in addition to the booze."

I curled up into a ball at the end of the couch. My mom? OD? Why would she do that? I thought she was happy, drinking the day away without worrying about her family. She was probably drunk when she did that… but that could come later.

Luke moved closer to me, and moved me gently so I ended up with my head on his chest with him leaning against the arm of the chair. He stroked my hair, causing me to feel very sleepy.

"I called Joan and Adam," he said. "They said they'd be here in about half an hour."

I fell asleep to the familiar scent of cheap cologne.


	3. Hidden

A/N: Finally! Chapter 3! Sorry it's been taking me so long to get these out… eeeesshhh…

---

I stirred sleepily as the smell of disinfectants and air purifiers hit me with full blast. This was definitely not my warm bed with my blankets.

"Morning," a familiar voice whispered in my ear.

Oh boy, what kind of pain killers had I been on last night? I was sleeping curled up against the boy-who's-a-little-more-than-friends, in plain sight of anyone who was…

Here.

What was Girardi and Rove doing here? They were curled up in a similar fashion on a couch across from my own. Rove was snoring lightly, and Joan was twitching her foot in a catlike manner. Luke's jacket was draped across my body yet again, and I sat up and looked at my watch.

8:30.

Where was Dad? He said he'd drop by… or I told him he'd drop by. This wasn't exactly something you'd forget because you were working too hard. It had been almost 10 hours since I'd talked to him on the phone, and he still wasn't here. Maybe he'd just decided to sleep at home, then come. But he was always up at 6, so I didn't know exactly how to justify that.

But one thing I did want justified was the fact that Girardi2 and Rove were here. They did not need to be here. Neither did Girardi1, for that matter.

"You okay?" Luke's breath touched my ear. I was not feeling lovey-dovey, or romantic. I stood up and stretched my legs.

"No, I'm not okay." I paused to survey his reaction. "You invited Girardi and Rove to our little get together?"

"They're your friends too… they deserve to be able to help you out."

"Remember the confidentiality agreement? I don't remember releasing you from that."

"Who says I need to be released from anything?"

I opened my mouth to bite back at him. But then I shut it. Screw him.

It was my turn to leave him. And I wasn't coming back either.

I came home, dropping my jacket on a familiar chair. My dad wasn't in his office, and he hadn't left a note either. It was a school day, but fat chance I was going to go to school in this state. I went upstairs to my room, and looked at the whale that Luke had gotten so excited about. And then our discussion of the lobster – that was great too. At that moment, everything seemed to click into place. We'd found a common thread that wove us together.

"_Originally released under the name "punchers." Retired in 1987, which briefly inflated the price to over $5,000. A classic lesson that any economic system is subject to the whims of human emotion."_

His face when he'd said that. It was priceless. He was so excited about a little sack of cloth and a bunch of beans. But the human emotion part – he had no idea how much he controlled my emotions. Just thinking about him could send me into a high or low.

Right now I was pretty low.

I mean, we were still bonded by the contract. And I'd kept my end of the bargain. Five minutes every day. But he totally violated the entire contract by a) me sleeping on his chest, and him allowing it and b) having Rove and Girardi2 there. Did he not see what damages he had caused? What was I now going to have to go through with his sister?

Whatever Luke thought, there was no way him and I were going to be one of those lovey-dovey couples who walk through the halls going "I love you," and then the classic "No, I love you more," and then the conversation ending by the two people duking it out over who loves who more. Not exactly my idea of fun relationship.

Any relationship at all at this point wouldn't be fun.

I spent the rest of the day straightening up my room, cleaning the kitchen, getting some groceries – all the housewively stuff I'd never do when I lived alone. Right now I just felt obligated because… well, I didn't know. But I needed to do something, and washing the dishes was actually quite therapeutic.

I stepped outside to take the trash out when a car pulled up. Joan's car, to be exact. She stepped out of the car, and turned and looked at me with a piercing stare.

I dropped the garbage can.

"What are you doing here, Girardi?" I said, clenching my teeth. "Aren't you late for your snuggle session with Rove?"

She stepped back, bitten. "I'm not even going to reply to that. I know you didn't mean that. Let's get you inside, and let you have some tea."

"I don't need tea. I need to get the house tidied."

"Those are words I'd never thought I'd hear. Why the sudden cleanliness?"

"What do you mean, sudden. I'm clean. Get over it. Go home."

"No. You hurt my brother."

I gasped, and then looked down the street. "Can we talk about this inside?"

She smirked. "Sure."

We went inside, me slipping off my shoes to put away that one last pot. I thought I could just ignore her while she was here. She could make tea or whatever, but I was not discussing anything with her.

"Why did you leave the hospital, Grace?" I looked up from where I had been washing the counter.

"Why are you here, Girardi?" I resumed scrubbing an invisible spot.

"I asked you a question first. Answer my question, and then I'll answer yours."

"I left to find my dad."

"Doesn't look like you're looking for him very hard." She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter behind her. Ooh, I hated it when she got so smug.

"No comments from the peanut gallery." I threw the wash rag into the sink, then turned to face her."

"You hurt my brother really bad back there."

"Yeah, well, he violated our trust. My trust," I said, putting a pot of water on to boil.

"He wanted what was best for you. He felt that you should be surrounded by friends. When Kevin was in the accident…"

"I don't need to hear the sob story of the super jock, ok? I just want to clean and wait for my dad to get home."

"Can I help you?" Joan reached out for the spaghetti I held in my hands. I handed it to her.

"Where's the other Girardi?" I searched in the fridge, and put a bottle of Prego on the counter.

"Still at the hospital."

"_WHAT?"_ I wheeled around and stared at her. "What is he doing there?"

"Finding out what he can about your Mom – I left him with my cell phone. He was still making calls to see if he can find out where your dad is when I left."

I sat down. My hands were shaking. I gulped, then tried to regain my dignity.

"He's… still… there?" My voice cracked. Emotions should be shot.

Joan nodded. "Of course. He loves you, Grace."

I gasped.

"Girardi… are you inept or something?..." I couldn't finish the sentence. I couldn't play the Cleopatra game anymore. Queen of Denial. Well, I'll play another game.

"Fine." I said, and I pointed towards the back door. "Go."

"What about your dad?"

"He's a grown-up. He can take care of himself." I pointed more hastily towards the door. "Move in that general direction, Girardi."

Oh, the spiteful…

She just clicked her little heels and went and stood by the door. "I'm here."

Could no one just leave me alone today? Was I not allowed to just wallow in my self pity and eat chocolate made by slave workers in Europe?

"_But Grace…"_ That evil voice echoed in my head again. "_Make up your mind. You want Girardis 1 or 2 there, you don't want them there. You want your dad, you don't want your dad. Or you can just not care and go upstairs."_

Not caring was definitely appealing. But I was definitely beyond not caring now. My mom was hanging between life and death, and my father was AWOL. But I really wanted to sleep.

I ignored the intruder and went and plopped down on my couch, remote in one hand, phone in the other. When I thought of someone to call, I decided, I'd call them and ask about my dad, then tell them about my mom.

The phone rang. I muted the TV and picked up the phone.

"Grace?"


End file.
